


Always Falling

by violent_ends



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Episode: s01e10 Pops, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Masturbation, POV Chloe Decker, Sad Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), Sexual Content, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 17:00:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20549588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violent_ends/pseuds/violent_ends
Summary: Canon divergence set between episodes 1x10 and 1x11.After trying to kiss Lucifer while drunk and angry at Dan, Chloe sobers up and wakes in the middle of the night to find Lucifer asleep on the couch, tossing and turning in anguish from what looks like a very vivid nightmare.Fumbling, comforting smut ensues.





	Always Falling

Chloe wakes up with a light headache on top of sheets that are entirely too soft, dark and smooth to be her own. It takes her a brief moment of panic to realize where she is, in Lucifer’s penthouse, but it’s her state of almost nakedness that makes her worried as memories and images from last night come rushing back. Of her calling an Uber – so very responsible, because she is _always_ responsible – to come to the luxurious apartment, complain about Dan dumping her via text – ugh, the bastard – and then proceed to jump Lucifer’s bones on the couch. _Oh, God._

But he… he said no. He gently pushed her away, until she started snoring on his shoulder; _well done Chloe, so professional of you_. She remembers the embarassing moment clearly now, even as she lifts the sheets from her body to look down at her naked breasts and panties. And somehow… somehow, she knows that if something had actually happened, she would feel it, in a way: feel that tingle of soreness and satisfaction in her limbs that only sex can give.

What she can’t remember is ending up in Lucifer’s bed, or why she slept in it almost naked. Puzzled, Chloe turns to the side to find out that Lucifer didn’t even sleep next to her, probably out of respect. The other side of the bed looks completely in order, only hers is a twisted, rumpled mess. A smile tugs at the corner of her lips, a warm fuzzy feeling in her chest at the realization that she can _trust_ this man even when she can’t trust herself.

Feeling her throat dry and parched, she decides to get up and pour herself a glass of water. As silently as possible, her bare feet touch the cold, glossy floor of the bedroom. She looks around for her clothes but seems unable to find them - _It’s too hot in this five-star hell-hole!_ she suddenly remembers saying, but she still has no clue where she threw them.

So when she spots Lucifer’s black silk robe on the back of the armchair in the far corner of the bedroom, she decides it will have to do. She still has no idea where Lucifer is and although he has probably seen her already (does it really matter, after Hot Tub High School?), the last thing she needs is to stumble into him in her underwear, this time sober.

She slips her arms inside the sleeves of the robe and ties it around her middle, trying to chase away the slight guilt she feels in invading Lucifer’s space like this: he’s probably very possessive about his stuff, so hopefully he won’t find out she wore it. But as she makes her way from the bedroom to the bar to retrieve a bottle of water from the small fridge underneath (assuming Lucifer actually drinks any water, because now that she thinks about it she never actually saw him drink something that wasn’t alcohol), Chloe can’t help but stop in her tracks and _stare_.

Lucifer is sleeping on his back on one of his Italian leather sofas, one arm draped unceremoniously over his eyes. He’s wearing a black pair of boxer briefs and his chest heaves in time with his quiet breathing, his hair tousled and left wild in a way Chloe has never been allowed to see.

She should _definitely_ look away and she knows it: this is wrong and creepy and inappropriate. But… but she can’t. There is something almost thrilling in being able to watch him like this, in the silence and stillness of the night, without his constant buzzing energy and neverending streams of perfectly accented words and quips and dirty innuendos and _Detectives_.

It’s… it’s the luxury of a lover, without actually being one. Not that Chloe wants to be. At all. That’s not the point.

She finds herself with one elbow on the piano without even realizing it, her arm supporting her head as she stares in silent contemplation. Lucifer moves and shifts every now and then, changing position; as expensive as it might be that couch doesn’t seem to be made for sleeping and must actually be really uncomfortable, Chloe realizes with renewed guilt. Maybe she should wake him up gently and tell him to go sleep in his bed, allow him to retake control of the house she somehow invaded.

Just as she’s about to take a first tentative step, Lucifer suddenly jerks in his sleep, his hands gripping the leather surface on either side of his body. His breath is now quick and agitated, his eyes shut tight, every muscle tense and straining. He turns again, now giving his back to Chloe, and wraps his arms around himself tightly, almost like a fetus in the womb, but painfully digging his fingers into his own flesh. Chloe can see them again now, the two crescent-shaped scars he stopped her from touching - _Don’t, please_ \- with almost terrified eyes, so unusual for him.

They speak of something sick and morbid and Chloe hates them because she deals with sick and morbid every day. They speak of a crime she isn’t allowed to solve, a crime she wishes was never committed, somehow connected to the father Lucifer despises so much. He spoke of wings being cut off and Chloe wants nothing more than to dig under the metaphor and unearth the truth, the whole truth about who he is and what has happened to him.

She wonders if even what she’s witnessing is a consequence of it, as Lucifer’s movements grow more frantic and his legs start kicking around wildly, his whole body trembling and shaking now. When he turns to show his front to her again, Chloe realizes he’s actually crying in his sleep and her breath gets stuck in her throat. A low, deep sob erupts from Lucifer’s chest and stabs her with its anguished intensity, making her sway on her feet.

_This is wrong_, she thinks, throwing her doubts and caution to the wind to quickly walk toward the couch and kneel next to it.

“Lucifer?” she whispers, almost scared of speaking too loud and startling him, but determined to put an end to the clearly haunting nightmare he’s having. “Lucifer, wake up.”

He doesn’t hear her, because he keeps tossing and turning, almost scrambling for support as if he’s blindly looking for something to hold on to: the armrest, the back of the couch, his own torso. It feels too intimate when Chloe grabs his face with her hands, brushing tears away with her thumbs, but she finds out she doesn’t care: she just wants it to _stop_.

“Lucifer, wake up!” she repeats, louder this time, blocking his head from jerking wildly like the rest of his body.

Lucifer jolts awake at the sound of her voice, his eyes widening in terror like those of a caged animal forced into a corner. He breathes heavily as he blinks at her, his hands planted on the couch as if he’s ready to jump up and run away at any moment. Now that she knows he is conscious again, Chloe suddenly feels like her hands are out of place and quickly removes them from his face, but can’t help brushing a stray lock of messy hair away from his forehead in their wake.

“You were having a nightmare" she explains soothingly, like she’s done with Trixie countless times. This is the most vulnerable she has ever seen Lucifer, she realizes once she makes the comparison, and distantly wonders if his mother (why doesn’t he ever mention her?) or hated father have ever comforted him after a bad dream when he was a child, like she’s trying to do now. She dreads to find out the answer.

“Oh" is all Lucifer says, his body relaxing slightly. His face turns wary instead, closed-off, defensive at the thought of Chloe finding him like this and seeing through the façade of overconfident rich British nightclub owner who also claims to be the Devil he’s trying to sell.

She should probably go. She woke him up, her job is done. But she can’t help asking the question, she just can’t because it seemed so _real_.

“What were you dreaming about?”

Lucifer flinches, surprised as she is by her boldness. It isn’t her place, after all. He doesn’t _have_ to answer. But after a moment of hesitation, he does.

“Falling" he confesses, then adds in a defeated whisper, “It’s always falling.”

It still ties into the web of delusions he built for himself: the fall of Lucifer, the one of the Bible, the rebel angel cast out of Heaven for his pride. But the sheer honesty and heartbreak in his reply make it impossible for Chloe to doubt whether it’s true or not. It just is, she knows it is. He was falling endlessly, grasping at air to stop the crashing descent, twisting and thrashing about in terror and agony and despair.

Lucifer still looks like a deer in the headlights, only lightly shaken by little tremors but not yet still and at peace, and Chloe now feels like her job is not done at all. Confusion clouds her mind at the distant thought of Dan and where they stand – she doesn’t know – mixed with the helplessness she feels when she allows herself to think of Lucifer in a different way, because she shouldn’t, it won’t end well, it will only mess things up between them; he is such a complicated, mysterious man and the last thing she needs is more mystery and complications in her life.

So, Chloe will probably regret it. No, scratch that, she will _surely_ regret it. And yet, despite the seed of fear already planted in the soil of her cautious heart, she finds herself leaning in. Slowly, giving Lucifer time to pull away, she inches closer and closer and she can see how deeply he is searching her gaze for any sign of drunkenness, but there is none left, which is terrifying because why is Chloe leaning in, then?

She presses her lips to his with her eyes closed and the softness and uncertainty of any first time, because that’s what this is. When she pulls back, he is staring at her with something she can’t quite place: a quiet awe, the shock of surprise, coming from the man who has been telling her that sex is always on the table if she changes her mind. He looks at her as if he can’t believe what she just did, and honestly she can’t either.

“Better?” she asks him, trying to justify the act to him and to herself by pretending it was just some weird attempt at comforting him, because it was a one time thing and she totally doesn’t want to kiss him again. Nope, she does not.

Lucifer seems at a loss for words, which is an absurd notion in itself – no sarcasm, no delicately arched eyebrow, no joke about how _you surprise me, Detective, I didn’t think you had it in you_. All he seems able to do is nod and send a spark of sudden, unbridled desire through Chloe’s body when his eyes, now clouded with timid lust, flicker down to her lips and then back at her face.

And yet, when this time he is the one leaning in his mouth is gentle, tentative, unsure. It’s not a peck like the one Chloe initiated, but a proper kiss: no tongues but lips moving together to find a rhythm. She loses herself in it, in the way one of Lucifer’s hands comes up to move a strand of hair from her face and then rest behind her ear, supporting her as he deepens the kiss and slowly sits up. She follows his movements, their mouths still discovering each other, and climbs up on the sofa to kneel in front of him between his parted legs.

They both pull away and stare at each other, but Chloe doesn’t want words to ruin this, scared that if she tries to rationalize it she’ll find one hundred reasons to stop. And she doesn’t want to stop, now.

“Detective-" Lucifer starts to say, to tell her what, Chloe doesn’t know and doesn’t care to find out.

She guides his face to hers again, her tongue gently asking permission this time as it breaches past his lips. Lucifer moans in her mouth, the sound sinful and incredibly sensual – Chloe has wondered what he would sound like but only out of curiosity, let’s say. For science. Her gesture seems to melt his insecurities because his tongue caresses hers now, and his hands move to her hips, thumbs pressing in a way that shouldn’t be as arousing as it is because it’s just her _hips_ but Chloe shivers from it just the same.

As they kiss, he starts to move until he is kneeling as well and then he slowly pushes her toward the opposite side of the couch, until Chloe is lying down with him on top of her. His weight is solid and warm and engulfing but he hovers over her slightly, trying not to press down between her legs just yet, bracing himself on the back of the couch.

His eyes are still red and puffy and there is sweat on his forehead and streaks of dried tears on his cheeks, and his hair is all over the place. He has no right to look this lost and this beautiful at the same time, no right to do what he does to her, none at all. It’s overwhelming and the control Chloe was pretending to have over it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

“This looks much better on you" he says as he looks down at the robe she’s wearing, regaining a bit of his confidence by giving her a compliment. Chloe feels like a schoolgirl because it makes her heart skip a beat.

“I thought you would be mad" she replies, her hands on either side of his neck, their faces inches from each other. He chuckles, breathless.

“I could never be mad at you, Detective" he says, before capturing her lips in a new, hungrier kiss that knocks the breath out of Chloe as her hands scramble for support like he did in his dream, his _nightmare_, trying to hold on as she gives as much as she’s being given.

She hooks her legs around his waist and pulls him closer, sharing in his groan when their hips meet. They look like teenagers in the backseat of a car, she realizes, grinding against each other in their underwear because it’s all so new and exciting and they are not sure if it’s time to push the boundaries just yet, if their hands are allowed to wander past the confines of the few clothes they are wearing.

It’s hotness and wetness and electricity where their covered groins are joined, and at some point along the way their kissing has turned sloppy and uncoordinated, their mouths unable to keep up as they go slack at random moments, breaking away and panting before the other person dives in again. Chloe’s hands stay pressed against the small of Lucifer’s back, until a deliciously dragged out thrust sends them skimming higher, over Lucifer’s half-moon scars.

Chloe freezes, releasing her hold on his skin, and pulls back with wide eyes.

“I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to" she rushes to explain. “I-"

“Touch them" Lucifer cuts her off, his pupils blown and black like the night outside, his breathing rugged, and then, “_Please_, touch them" he whispers like a secret.

Chloe wonders if they hurt, if it’s pain he’s seeking, or comfort and acceptance instead. She hopes it’s the latter. She tentatively lowers her hands again, fingertips gently brushing over the creased skin, tracing along the lines where it turns smooth again. It’s the exact opposite request from the last time she has seen them and tried to touch them, and she’s not sure what’s changed, but if this is what Lucifer needs right now, so be it.

He shivers on top of her, and sinks down to bury his face in the crook of her neck, mouthing at the patch of skin behind Chloe’s ear as she keeps stroking his back. Slowly, with less heat and passion but somehow more desperation, he starts grinding his hips into her again, a languid rolling movement that makes her whimper in his hair. They rock together like waves now, in unison, crashing against the sand.

Heat pools low and steady inside Chloe but she can’t seem to let go, not unless he does; a protective feeling she doesn’t fully understand, a need to let him have what _he_ needs, because from the outside he looks like a man who has everything and more but this, _this_ is the reality he doesn’t let anyone see, the truth he comes home to: tremors and nightmares and tears in the darkness of night.

At a certain point, it seems like he’s about to fall over the edge, tensing and stiffening on top of her as she presses the tips of her fingers fully into the scars, but instead he lets out an exasperated huff and keeps going, hoisting her leg more firmly around him with one arm. With a hint of hesitation still lingering in his movements, his fingers start to travel between them, slipping under the hem of the robe to stop just over her panties.

He looks at her for permission, muscles straining from restraint, but Chloe lowers one of her hands from his back to still his wrist. She guides it away and over her hip, then proceeds to slip her own hand inside his boxer briefs instead. Lucifer bucks into her grasp and looks at her wordlessly, almost _apologetically_, then closes his eyes and slumps back down on top of her. Chloe starts moving her hand between them, her own pleasure put aside as she builds up a rhythm, slow and tentative at first, getting used to the sensation herself.

Lucifer is hot and heavy in her hand and she wonders how awkward everything will be from now on, knowing she did this to him, but suddenly he is kissing her again and moaning in her mouth and the future just stops having any relevance. Chloe quickens the movements of her hand, trying to ignore how uncomfortable the position is: once again, they look like fumbling teenagers, but she doesn’t want to move this to the bed or ask him to sit up because she likes how spontaneous this is, how it shows that they just couldn’t help themselves somehow.

Her other hand still digs into one of the scars as they kiss, frantic and with no finesse, as she gives him a reason to forget, a moment of peace, as fleeting as it might be. Lucifer still looks _sorry_ when he breaks away from the kiss to pant harshly, anguish dark and terrible in his eyes, and he’s close again, Chloe can tell, but he’s scared or unable to allow it to himself. She never pictured their first experience to be like this – no, wait, she never pictured _any_ sexual experience between them, right? –, with him looking so unsure and her taking the lead. It doesn’t match the vibe he always gives, the way he wants other people to see him, but it's in this moment that the truth lies.

“It’s okay, Lucifer, come on" Chloe encourages him, her hand relentless as it snaps up and down, her grip impossibly tight. “Come _on_.”

_It’s over, I caught you, let go._

Lucifer’s breath stutters against her lips and he comes over her fingers and inside his underwear with his eyes squeezed tightly shut, releasing tension in the air like a bow that just snapped into motion. They both pant in the silence, now deafening without their sounds of joined pleasure, and Chloe feels like she’s breaking a spell when she slips her hand out of Lucifer’s briefs and quickly cleans it with the front of her robe. _His_ robe, she reminds herself bitterly, because this is his apartment and she came here drunk last night and it’s only her reckless behavior that led to this moment, now gone.

_What now?_ she wonders, her mind clouding with worry again now that reason knocks back at its door after being temporarily kicked out of the house.

Lucifer gently moves to lie down next to her, on his side, with his back pressed against the back of the couch. Chloe shifts to leave him space to get settled, half-turning toward him and peering up at him, feeling lost. He smiles down at her with newfound awe in his eyes, one finger tracing the side of her face, her chin, then dipping lower to draw a line between her still covered breasts, reveling in the way Chloe arches into his touch. He stops at the silk knot of the robe, tied over her bellybutton.

“Can I?” he asks, the reverence of a priest at a church altar, eyes pleading for a blessing. She nods.

He unties the knot and lets the silk slide away to reveal her chest. His eyes travel down her body with quiet desire, then up again until he is staring into her eyes. And then, without breaking eye contact, he moves his hand lower still and slips it inside her underwear.

It’s probably embarrassing, the moan Chloe makes when the tips of his fingers start stroking gently at her, but it’s been a long, long time since a man has taken care of her this way. Her head lolls back against Lucifer’s neck where he’s lying next to her, one hand gripping his hair as the other holds on to the side of the couch. She can feel him grinning when he pushes one finger inside, letting her adjust, studying her with those piercing eyes of his that somehow coax truths and desires out of everyone but her.

He picks up a maddeningly slow pace, the heel of his hand pressing at the top as his middle finger rocks inside her and sends sparks up her body and all the way to her extremities, and how will Chloe ever be able to even accept a coffee cup from him after knowing where his hand has been, always bound to remember what just his fingers can reduce her to? How will she stop herself from wanting more of him now? How is she supposed to-

“Like this?” Lucifer whispers in her ear with a voice that is sex itself; he’s back, he’s himself again, and although she won’t say it out loud Chloe can give it to him for once: he sounds like the Devil offering her an apple she shouldn’t eat, he sounds like sin, like a forbidden desire fulfilled, because at least for her he is.

“M-more" she admits, almost defeated at how desperate she sounds as she tightens her hold on his hair and _pleads_ with her eyes.

He doesn’t seem to be one for teasing, at least in bed, or maybe just in this moment, knowing it’s his time to comfort her – Chloe isn’t sure what she needs comforting for because she doesn’t have terrifyingly vivid nightmares but then again, her life isn’t the way she wanted it to be and she supposes that’s a way of being haunted too, but every day and in broad daylight instead. Lucifer expertly adds a second finger on his way back in to comply with her request, then crooks them both where the heat coils and burns inside, but what makes Chloe squirm and curl her toes is the way he is looking at her when she pulls back to peer up at him.

He looks lost in her pleasure in a way no one has ever been, his body reacting to every shift and sound coming from hers, with small twitches and stutters in his breath every time she moans or whimpers around his pianist fingers. He’s hard again, just from this, firm and unbearably arousing against her hip and for a moment Chloe thinks of going all the way, thinks of yanking his hand away, push her underwear down and ask him to just take her.

Thankfully she’s too busy getting close to make a decision that, somewhere deep, deep down, she is sure is too rash. So instead, she lets Lucifer continue while guiding his head down for a kiss. His fingers push steady and deep and the cold metal of the ring he never takes off – not even in his sleep, apparently – sends pleasant shivers up her spine and his lips are soft and comforting as they shush her, lulling her into a state of bliss that builds in its intensity until it’s just too much.

Chloe’s orgasm sneaks up on her as her other hand shoots up to grip the arm Lucifer has between her legs, finding an anchor to steady herself as pleasure courses in her veins. Lucifer's mouth stays inches from hers as she comes, as he _watches_ her come with little sounds of satisfaction and encouragement and those infuriatingly burning eyes that will be the death of her. He removes his fingers only when Chloe relaxes completely, his lips parting from hers with one final peck that shifts into a smile. A moment of silence stretches between them, but now that Lucifer seems to have regained his confidence Chloe knows he won’t be able to stay silent for long.

“Guess I'll have to find a way to pop down below and check if Hell froze over" he says, proving her right, his smug grin back in place; of course, his vulnerability from a moment ago is gone now, behind the closed door of his Devil-themed denial. But it’s fine, Chloe can play this game; she has mastered it at this point.

“Technically this isn't _sleeping_ together, so there will be no need" she quips, touching his nose with the tip of her finger for a moment, teasing and playful in a way she knows she won’t allow herself to be once she leaves.

“Right" he replies as he scrunches up his face, his heart not really in the small concession. “I'll let you win this one, Detective, but this is far from over.”

And just like that, their banter is back, a notion that is weirdly reassuring to Chloe. She knows he won’t bring this up unless she decides to talk about it, and right now she doesn’t feel ready to. They will probably go on with their weird partnership and never speak of Lucifer’s nightmares again – which is actually a shame, but this is how it is with him. He let her peek through a window, and now the window has closed.

And who knows, maybe at some point down the line, this night might change everything… or nothing at all.

But at least for now, Chloe stopped him from falling.


End file.
